And Held the Skies Suspended
by Aniaj
Summary: Short narrative on the death of a hero...


_I don't own any part of the Star Wars franchise. That belongs to George Lucas, and only he makes money off of it. _

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 And Held the Skies Suspended__

_"Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak_

_Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break."_

_William Shakespeare_

          It was never spoken of, that nebulous bond that kept him at my father's side. To do so would have dishonored the solemn vow. For as long as I can remember, he was there, a comforting presence in a world that was teetering on the brink of chaos. I suppose my earliest memory of him was when I was still a toddler, barely walking. I remember standing on his foot, hands wrapped around his leg, giggling as each step he took swung me forward.

          It was he who gave me my first taste of flying. He would toss me up high into the air until I was spinning and snatch me at the last minute, cushioning me gently in his soft, warm arms. Sometimes he would swing me around and around, until I was so dizzy I couldn't stand, and I would totter a few steps before toppling over into a warm lap. Many a night I'd fallen asleep in his arms, feeling the soft fur surround me. I knew that I was safe, that none of the monsters, real or imaginary, could get me. 

          My childhood, what little there was of it, was filled with more danger and excitement than most. He was there for it, carrying me away from fire and bad relatives and other, worse fates. I remember how he let me braid his wonderful thick fur, how he sat there at the mercy of a five-year-old. How when I had some childhood sickness, he would let me sneeze on him and sniffle. How he let his own son grow up far away so he could stay true to an oath he had long ago discharged. 

          How my brothers and I would wrestle with his, tugging ineffectively at his huge frame until he topple over with a ferocious roar and let us grunt and tug and pull and push until we collapsed on top of him, panting for breath, with him laughing below us. 

          I remember how he would grin at me as he left with my father, winking at me before the ramp closed behind him. How I knew that he wouldn't let anything to my dad,  even when I was old enough to know what kind of trouble they stirred up. How the creases on Mom's face lessened just a little every time he strapped himself into the oversized copilot's chair. 

          When I was older, I saw the deeper side of him, the one it was easy to dismiss. The strong, determined warrior, the patient, gentle father. The loyal friend and fierce protector. My perception of him changed as I did. But I loved him no less. Not once did he express any regret or resentment. Not once did he ever complain.

          Anakin told me, but I knew when it happened. I saw it in my mind, his last moments. Was it a vision of the force? I don't know. I never have those, unlike my twin. Unlike my brother or mother. But I saw him standing there, arms raised in one last gesture of defiance in the face of death. I heard him bellow his anger. I felt him die. I felt him die, like a star going supernova. I felt the place inside of me reserved for him go hollow. Like a void, devoid of light, sound, feeling. Even before that horrible comm came in, I knew he was gone. 

          My comfort, my protector, my friend, my surrogate parent, my beloved uncle. All washed away in the tide of a descending moon. A moment when mortality was made brutally clear. His death shattered my world, my family, my very existence. A pain beyond the mere physical. A hole ripped in the very lining of my soul. 

          My father chooses to run away. He hides in the bottom of a shot glass, in the cold of space. He hates us. He hates us because it was for us that he lost his best friend, his closest somrade. I know that's why he can't look at us, can't share his grief. I feel like I lost two fathers at Serndipal. He doesn't know that running won't do any good. But he does it all the same. 

          My mother. She's sad, confused. Angry at him and herself and the universe in general. She channels her anger and frustration and aonfusion into her work. And for the moment, she can survive that way. So she has put distance between us, as well. Not the same kind of distance, but distance all the same. 

          My brothers are coping. Anakin has my uncle and aunt, as well as his own inner strength, to help him. He blames himself for what happened. So does my father. They're both wrong. And right. Jacen would say that the universe has it's own system for assigning blame. He's been saying a lot of that lately. Lost in his own world, his identity crisis.

          And me? I'm the worst of all. I can't even honor him with my grief. Like my father, I run away. Unlike him, I run to something, but it's running all the same. Trying to penetrate the numbness inside of me with a quick thrill, a reckless mission. The other pilots call it bravery and skill. I call it cowardice. You see, I don't feel anything at all. Not sorrow, or anger, or grief. Nothing. Just a cold emptyness that seems to be spreading outward. I hate him for leaving me, for showing me that all heroes are mortal. I'm afraid that I'll die. I'm terrified that someday someone will see me for what I truly am: a coward. An imposter. A spoiled child. A mediocre Jedi. A dissappointment to my parents. 

          I cry for myself, when I cry at all. I cry for the child who was the and the woman who isn't yet and may very well never be. I cry for the family he left for me and the family he left behind. 

          I don't cry anymore. Not for Chewie. Not for anyone. But some part of me that was precious died with him. And I envy that part of me.

_"Their shoulders held the skies suspended;_

_They stood, and Earth's foundations sway;_

_What God abandoned, these defended,_

_And saved the sum of things that day."_

_A E Housman_

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Copyright 2001 to the author. May not be reproduced in any way, shape or form, except in it's entirey and only with the permission of the author.


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